the new camera phone

Taking pictures of Day has just gotten even easier.

His daddy recently bought himself a Samsung SGH-D500C - a birthday present for himself - and one of the features which made him want to buy that phone was its groovy camera feature. 1.3 meg.

OK we are probably real dinosaurs when it comes to cam phones, but this is our first. I was very resistant because to me, a handphone need only serve these functions: Call and receive calls, store numbers and SMS.

Everything else - GPRS, WAP, whatever nonsense - are unecessary evils trotted out by the handphone companies to rob us of our hard-earned money.

I must admit, however, that the camera function has turned out to be one of those things where once you have it, you wonder how you ever did without it.

Anytime anywhere, so easy to take pictures! Here are some pics taken from today (it was SUPER hot)

Daddy and Day outside Siglap Centre.


One of Day's favourite activities: Pressing for the green man. For that matter, he loves traffic lights.


And at the playground near the library. You can tell it's super hot. His face looks burnt.


The quality of the pics are really not bad, definitely good enough for posting on the blog.

My only grouse is that the shutter reaction time is too slow. The pix only gets taken about 2 seconds after I press the button. Bugger.

follicularly challenged

What does the above picture resemble?

a) A hairy knee?
b) An unshaven chin?
c) None of the above?

As it so happens, C is the answer because that picture is of my son’s head.



Oh yes. We shaved him.

On Monday, we brought him out for breakfast and as we were ruffling his downy hair, we realized that he had little rashes and scabs on his head. It could be due to his incessant head scratching (an action which makes him look exactly like a monkey), lice or a reaction to shampoo build-up. Whatever. The hair had to go.

We parked our bikes at the Indian barber shop on our way home. Mr Barber was very apprehensive indeed when we pointed to squirming Day and said "shave". He insisted that daddy carry Day, which was a good idea. He was OK at first. Suspicious and apprehensive but quiet.



3 minutes in it got really unpleasant, even handphones and sharp objects had lost their allure.



* By the way, it's funny how a haircut is such a BIG thing for parents and their babies, but it just IS. Maybe because the babes make such a ceremony out of it. Or myabe they just look so cute having their little bits of hair snipped off.

The result?



Not too bad at all! Though I feel as if the haircut sort of made him more Masculine. While he could pass off for a girl before with his bangs, his Femininity has literally been cut off.

The day he had his shave, he certainly acted very Boy. No quiet moments and not even a hint of sweetness. All his sensibility evaporated with his hair and he did a fair bit of throwing his weight around and swaggering like a thug, in a Vin Diesel-like manner.

tiger's two

One of those kids who came to Day's birthday was Tiger. His birthday happens to be on April 25 (just two days after Day) so we joined in his party on Sunday!

For a boy just turning two, Tiger is Big and Beefy with a smouldering gaze who snarls out his "nos". Day had paid Tiger a visit at his Redhill home nearly six months ago, and for all the talk of meeting up again, geography does count when it comes to kiddy playgroups. Redhill is a long way from the East.

Never mind, they meet again. And sadly, against our wishes, they still don't seem to click.

Here's the handsome birthday boy, with his mummy and daddy. Such majestic eyebrows! (I mean the birthday boy's)


Cutting the cake with dad. (and J, in case you're wondering, I cropped out mummy because she was out of focus haha)


These were all the kids at Tiger's party.


Day was the only one who would stay put. He sat on the couch and waited for all the other kids to be marshalled into position.

In fact, he was very well-behaved at Tiger's party and was unusually subdued. Not one hint of defiance, swagger or even a cry as he went round poking balloons and squeezing drink packs. By the way, he's wearing one of his birthday presents.



I wondered then if this is our reward for seeing him through his first year, if babies suddenly undergo overnight personality changes and if he will be so quiet and sensible from now on.

Fat hope. His extreme good behaviour was one-off.

daddy's 34

With so much fuss being made over Day's birthday, almost everyone forgot that it was his daddy's day as well...

But I didn't forget!!!

So what's a desperate housewife with no money to do for a guy who craves expensive gadgets?

Here's what I got him.



Frankly I think it's rather ingenious (*pat on the back*).

It's cheap ($12 only, and I don't mind broadcasting it because the recipient knows the price) and yet priceless (so trite, but it's true cos we hardly print any of Day's photos).

It's what I call Cheap and Good.

Goodness knows it took me a fair bit of sniffing around before I found the shop to do it. It's called Print and Cut at Bras Basah.

Daddy loves it, says it's his Favourite Cup. He drinks from it with a smile.

day's one IV: d-day

The day has come and gone... his First Birth-Day.

Someone told me it's rather important to celebrate the Big One with a Big Bash, and thereafter all birthdays are inconsequential until perhaps old age. My folks wanted a real big do, so we pulled out all the stops and it was like Chinese New Year as everyone descended on our house. There was even the game of mahjong. (apart from a short break to cut the cake, the game was continuous)

Never mind what the adults did. It's Day's day! Did he enjoy himself?

Probably not very. Not with a mixture of sweat and (ineffective) gel in his hair, and having to wear a thick T-shirt and overalls combo (it was one of his gifts, so it was brand-new and smelt of Shopping Centre) which made him sweat and sweat. Also not surprising considering that he often wears much less.



But apart from that, it was OK. There were lots of babies and kids (all either his relatives or friends). As always, it's always the kids who cluster round the cake during cake-cutting.



Apart from the cake, there was also lots of food from the buffet line.



Here are some of the kids who came for Day's birthday.



But what was probably the highlight of Day's night was girls. He seems to have a particular chemistry with little Ally, the two of them look like the two kids in the Ribena ad.

They almost seem to be talking...


Ally: Hey Day! Listen up!
Day: What is it? I'm busy...
Ally: Did I see you kissing a girl?


Day (most amused): No la! She tried to kiss me but I wasn't having any of it.
Ally (mollified and happy again): *giggle* (because she saw this...)
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This little lady, by the way, is Marie. She specially put on lipstick for the occasion but Day seems to like his girls au naturale.

day's one III: development

How far has he come?

BIRTH

Length: 53cm
Weight: 3.7kg

1st MONTH

My little monkey boy with the cone-shaped head and huge tongue does nothing all day but feed, sleep in his bouncy net and frown. He needs daily sunbaths for jaundice, which doesn’t go away until the 3rd month.

2nd MONTH

The right side of his head is flatter than the left because he keeps sleeping on the right. Day spits out his pacifiers, all four of them. Holds up his head. But what we thank our lucky stars for is when the sweetie starts sleeping through the night.

3rd MONTH

His first and last bout of colic lasts 30 minutes. He starts pawing things like mummy’s breasts and manages to stuff his fist into his mouth instead of knocking his eye out. His eyes get bigger and eyelashes longer. He rolls over on the right. Gives love bites.

4th MONTH

He likes being hoisted by the armpits to take little “air” steps, paw the ground with his foot or bounce up and down. Says “ah goo”. He goes for his first swim at the Fort Road swimming pool and takes his first shave. The bald patches on his head (from rubbing) are too unbecoming for words. He’s found his laughs too.

5th MONTH

Starts solid foods – yummy Heinz baby rice cereal mixed with breast milk. Has his first illness, a vaccine-related fever. Can straighten his arms to lift up his head while he is on his tummy. Tries his darndest to creep forward but as he does it like a charging bull with head down, the head is forever in the way, crown scraping the ground.

6th MONTH

Can sit. Gets on his knees in doggie position and sways to and fro, in preparation for crawling. He also finds his toes and starts sucking his thumb. Gets his first high chair and we break it in by letting him see fish. Makes a funny little noise by sucking in his top lip and chewing on it.

7th MONTH

He stands up in his cot using the railing so we lower it two notches. We manage to catch his “shitty” face and start letting him shit in the toilet bowl. He refuses the potty. Crawls on his hands and knees. Starts ear-piercing squealing. His first tooth emerges.

8th MONTH

He loves going to the window to watch the world go by. Throws ridiculous arm-waving temper tantrums. Starts practise-walking using staircase railings and demands that we “walk” him by holding his hands. Obsessed with pressing toys – alarm clocks, remote controls, mobile phones. Has his second haircut in Malaysia.

9th MONTH

He starts cruising – pulling himself up to the furniture and walking by holding on to whatever is available. And wants to stand in his bathtub. Gets his first pair of shoes. Stands by himself.

10th MONTH

Can walk on his own. Starts talking a whole lot more. Sounds like crap to me though. Doctor's check: He now weighs 9.3kg and is 75 cm tall.

11th MONTH

Attempts to climb tables, chairs etc. We start brushing his teeth with a little finger brush. Literally “grows up” as his personality unfurls this month. Starts playing with other babies. Speaks his first proper words (proper meaning he looks at it and makes a specific sound): mum-mum (for food).

12th MONTH

Can run quite fast, walks up and down single steps and talks in his own language with specific sounds for some things. Has four teeth with a fifth one peeping through. Starts swim class. Can be taught tricks, like where’s your XXX? Uses his tears for emotional manipulation.

day's one II: delivery

On 23 April 2004, 33 years after his father, Day was born. (yes they share the same birthday)

Here’s his very pedestrian, long-winded and rather boring birth story (boring’s good, don’t want any labour drama), but a birth story nonetheless which he SHOULD know about because it wasn't a breeze.

DELIVERY

23 April: I was lying next to Hubby, his alarm had rang but he was sleeping in a bit more, it was about 7am+. When I got up to go to toilet, suddenly there was a gush. A trickle of clear water. And it kept coming! I thought then that my water bag had burst. I quickly went to rouse Hubby and told him so. He sat up and asked if I was sure… I was.

But I had no pains. So quite calmly, I took my bag, changed, and took a cab with Hubby to Thomson Medical.

I reached there at about 9am. Went to the clinic and told the nurse, er, my water bag has burst. She didn’t really catch me at first but after I repeated a few times, her eyes opened wide and she told me to rush to labour ward! Think most women deliver soon after the water bag breaks…

I went to the labour ward, tthe water was really gushing out. Like peeing non-stop. I lay on the hospital bed as the nurse strapped something onto my stomach to monitor the baby’s heartbeat (strong and clear!)

After a while, doc came. She stuck a finger in and said the cervix was only 1 cm dilated (!) and that it was sacral. Whatever that meant. She asked if I wanted to be put on the drip to hasten things along, but I said I wanted to try doing it naturally. She said OK and left.

Then a nurse came to shave me, and stuck a bottle with a long tip into my ass – an enema. I lay there for about 15 minutes before I rushed to the loo. Big time shit. Everything came out.

The nurse then led me to the birth room. There was a TV and a black leather armchair for Hubby. I asked if I could walk around, as I could not imagine lying down for hours. They also ordered me breakfast of chicken porridge. Apart from some teeny menses-like cramps, I still wasn’t feeling anything major. I put on a pink flowery kimono, and paced up and down the corridor of the labour ward trying to hasten things. I must have walked like hundreds of times down the short corridors.

Had lunch of kway teow soup. And continued walking. Doc came in at about 2+ and said I was 2 cm dilated. 2cm!!!! What the hell. I continued walking, feeling a bit depressed as things were moving so slowly. All the while the water from the water bag was gushing out (still! How much water is in there??!).

I was advised to sleep but I couldn’t really sleep so I continued walking. Hubby was very bored.

He really had nothing to do but watch me. He didn’t help when he commented that we were hearing the cries of babies from women who had come in way later than me.



When doc eventually came in at 7+, she saw me clutching the bed in pain, the contraction was painful, while I was standing up. But when she stuck her finger in and pronounced that it was 3.5cm, that was it. I wanted Day to be born on 23 April. I wasn’t even past 5cm. I said give me the drip.

So they stuck the drip in my left hand. They tried with a vein that was too fine, had to take it out. That hurt. Then they found another vein at the side of my hand, and re-poked. Eek.

And suddenly, it hurt. LIKE HELL. The contractions started coming fast and furious. 3-4 minutes apart.



It felt like my pelvis was being crushed or something. The pain was beyond my control. I tried deep breathing, telling myself that its one contraction less. Nothing helped. One side of my mind was telling me “Think of the contractions as baby hugs!” while the other side was “F%#k it!! This is shit!”

At that moment I caved in. I said, I want EPIDURAL. Doc asked me to try the gas first. I did. Worked shit. It’s this sickly-sweet astringent smelling rubber-plastic mask I put over my nose / mouth, breath deeply as my desperate whoosing breathing sound echoes through the mask. Didn’t help. I was thumping the bed, grabbing onto the rail, writhing.

I gasped out: No! I demand epidural! They had to call the anaesthetist. Who is not in the hospital, but was somewhere else. Argh! With that ray of light, I wanted salvation. No more pain!

Finally he came, probably 8+. He asked me why didn’t I ask for epidural earlier?! I said I wanted to experience labour pains, he said good! He probably thought I was a fool.

The epidural was no joke either. After spraying some cold spray, he poked my spine and it’s like icy cold water running down the inside of your spine. It’s a sick sick feeling. I was not supposed to move or risk paralysis. At the same time I was having contractions and I was grabbing so tight onto the nurse’s hand it felt like I was going to break it. Finally it was done. The pain didn’t go away immediately, and I felt a persistent achy pain on the left side of my pelvis. But it was much better. I lay there, limp and wilted.

Just a while later (about 9pm?) nurse told me the head has descended and I can push! Wow! I was very pleased and perky, since the epidural had taken effect. I felt nothing. She put my feet up in stirrups and made me practise push. The marvelous thing is, his head could apparently be seen! (I cannot see la). Hubby went over to see and he said, Day Day has hair! Wow! I practise-pushed like 5-6 times.

Then doc came in, all ready to deliver. 2 nurses came in, on either side of me. Hubby was behind me supporting my back and pushing me upright so my head was almost between my knees. Doc told me to push. I, with all my constipation experience, knew how to do it even though I felt nothing and she was very pleased. With that, when my contraction came, I pushed, imagining that I was pushing that damn piece of pringle-can-sized shit out of me. 3 times and his head was out!

I could see the reflection of the black shiny head in doc’s glasses. It was a marvel. A bit more and he was completely out. I didn’t hear anything for a while, but suddenly, his glorious cries filled the room. He was handed over to me and I nearly cried. But I didn’t. This slippery, grayish, mucousy screaming boy was mine! He had LOTS of hair and was wriggling and screaming away, his eyes were bulging red pockets, he was squeezing them so hard.

Next came my placenta! It was gross. It looked like a big blood-filled bag the size of two of my fists. But it’s been keeping my baby happy and healthy! So nothing to say. Hubby gave me a kiss on my forehead after Day came out.

While doc sewed me up she was said Day was very big at 3.7 kg. I freaked out. I had always thought my baby was 3.2kg. Now she tells me he’s 3.7. I did see some reflections in doc’s glasses as she was working on me. Seemed awfully bloody. At one point I even thought she was poking a scissors into me.

After about 10 minutes, they brought Day in again. He was wrapped up in a mustard yellow towel and looked… very red. Slightly bloody and slight white stuff on his face (the vernix, I think).



With great trepidation I put him to my breast and boy he started chewing.

After I was wheeled back into the room, I immediately started sms-ing all my friends. No pain… yet. When I woke up the next morning, I still felt fine but it was when I got up that I thought, bloody murder! I felt like there was a big rock in between my ass. Apparently I pushed so hard I got myself a newborn pile.

day's one I: discovery

I never dreamed I would reach this point but finally, my baby Day is going to be ONE YEAR OLD, on Saturday, 23 April 2005.

He is a passport-holding individual who has changed the lives of everyone around him. For me, my life has changed forever.

At this time, I thought it would be good to reflect on the Big Build Up to Little Day, starting from the time I found out that he lived.

CONCEPTION

The exact time and place where Day was conceived: 31 July 2003, on Fuerteventura, one of the Canary islands. We actually went there as part of our Spanish honeymoon (Fuerte is Spanish-owned) so Hubby could windsurf, but he ended up doing more than just windsurf.

It's an intriguing dreamscape of rolling fog, vast sand dunes and the bluest waters and I'm glad Day was made in this unforgettable spot.





DISCOVERY

Then when I returned I found out I was pregnant. This is what I wrote in my Preggie Diary on 28 August 2003 - it's a long one!

Last week I've been waiting for the period. Hubby sent me messages saying "akan datang" and promising me that it would come in the next 2 days and when it passed, that it would come in the next 2 days.

We've always believed that I'm infertile. I have typical journalist periods - irregular and minimal.

Or that Hubby, because of the bike-riding and inhaling road fumes, has 3-tailed sperm.

Still I thought it felt different. Everytime I saw Hubby I would open my mouth and go "Where's my period? Are you going to be a Daddy?" I was half-joking but in a way, despite the trepidation, half-hoping.

I thought it was be good to just settle it once and for all, confirm I'm not pregnant and get on with our lives.

The night before (Sat 23 Aug) I was at Pris' rented apartment, staying over. I felt sore-throatish and tired, from working on Saturday. Me, Jo and Pris drank white wine (hindsight: I have not drunk alcohol since then, in nearly TWO years!), ate lots of Ruffles lightly salted crisps, before I collapsed on her sofa. I didn’t sleep very well.

The next day I got myself a pregnancy test kit.

Showed Hubby when he came back, he was alarmed that I actually went to get the kit. I told him it'd be good to confirm No and then I’d stop fretting. He wanted me to test immediately. I told him it works better with early morning urine.

That night, I suddenly sat up at 3am needing to go to the loo. I had this weird idea that it was time to wake up. I automatically took the test kit, collected my pee in a cup and dipped the stick in. I think I was too nervous and wanted to get it over and done with.

The 1st pink line showed up very clearly, immediately. Frowning I read the instructions. Then I realized that is the pregnancy line.

My heart started fluttering and I started panicking. I'm PREGNANT??!

I paced around the flat. I turned off the light and went to bed. Stared at the test stick in the darkness. Stared out the window at the dark windows. Went to the toilet, switched on the light and sat on the bowl with my head resting on the basin.

I'm PREGNANT?!? What am I going to DO?!?

I told myself to calm down. Hubby was still lying next to me on the bed, sleeping with his mouth blissfully open, as usual. I didn’t have the heart to shake him up with the awful news.

Finally I calmed down enough, amazingly, to sleep at about 5+.

I opened my eyes when the door quietly closed. Hubby had gone to work.

I woke up again at 10+am. I called Hubby. Told him the test was positive. His response: You’re not pulling my leg, are you? I said no. I intended to go to the doctor to double-check.

To his credit he managed to go right back to work.

I got up and thinking that I have to feed another, cooked myself an egg in the microwave. There was nothing else to eat.

Then I went to the doctor. $25 confirmed that I was pregnant.

I called Hubby. His response was something along the lines of "oh no".

I ate at KFC, cheese fries and pop corn chicken and Pepsi. So unhealthy, I don’t know why i ate it.

Felt slightly nauseous, not sure if it’s the news that induced it or real nausea.

Took a bus home. Lay in bed and slept, suddenly felt very very fatigued.

I was still in bed when Hubby came home. He was horrified. He lay on the sofa and stared at the ceiling, thinking about his "shattered dreams" and how life will change and how he's not prepared to be a daddy. I think he is. I think he'll make a better parent than me.

He insisted on buying another pregnancy test kit for $15. Fine.

At home, tested me again. Some ambiguity over the results made him say I was not pregnant. I made him test his own urine with the remaining test stick. Then it was very clear on comparison that I was pregnant and he WASN'T because the 2 sticks looked way different.

His face crumpled!!!

Anyway the next day he started sending me sms-es, calling me "preggie" and asking if I was OK or nauseous. And he has said if this one is successful, then we should have 2 more.

the ezzo nazi

I interviewed a parent today with views so radical it makes my head spin.

I mean, come on:

* Putting an infant in a playpen with just two toys and dangling a big ticking clock nearby so the baby will learn that she has to stay put, whether she likes it or not, until time is up? (and time could be an hour for a 1-year-old)

* Forcing a newborn baby into a parent-directed routine of feeding every 2 1/2 hours and no sooner, so the kid learns to finish a full meal in (at max) 1/2 hour?

* Leaving the baby to cry it out in the cot for up to 45 minutes so she will learn that she has to sooth herself?

* Training the baby to be independent by ignoring her cries for attention will make her more secure?

* Forcing the baby's hands down whenever she wants to play with her food because she must learn table manners from the start? (What the lady says is that re-training is always difficult. Must train from the start)

It's mind-boggling. But, to be fair, she did raise her two daughters this way and they are apparently very good, stable, independent girls. Click here to see the girls.

She is the local representative of a Christian method of parenting called Babywise, which in a nutshell aims to train babies according to what the parents dictate. To them, demand feeding is bad, co-sleeping breeds needy insecure babies and random play is sin. Instead of assuming that babies are inherently good, Ezzo folks believe that babies are born bad.

What I found far more interesting was this website which has loads of articles blasting the Ezzo (that's the name of the founders) method.

So why is she teaching this method of parenting under a Government-sanctioned parenting course? Parents who, thinking that it must be OK because the Government okays it, may not know that this method has been associated with malnourished babies (because of the strict feeding schedule) and possibly babies who feel insecure and unloved.

Whatever it is, she certainly lambasted the method by which I raise Day. (I didn't say it was me, of course). When I said, so should babies be allowed to play freely and roam the house? Her reply: A toddler with too much idle time is one that will get into trouble. Going to the hi-fi, playing in the kitchen (he does both ALL the time) should be a no-no. Babies should have zero freedom.

Yeesh.

And to think I let him have free rein with the garden hose the other day.



But to be fair, I'm sure there are some good points about it as it has worked for many babies. It is good to have routines and there must be a line between trying to be a cool, young parent mucking things up with the kid (as I tend to) and a disciplinarian cum authority figure (not me... yet).

I keep wondering now, what if Day turns out to be an ill-disciplined, attention-seeking brute with no respect for authority, property or good behaviour? Oh dear. I will eat my words then.

After all, all of us (me and brothers) were raised using methods similar to the Babywise method. Chucked in a playpen for hours with a milk bottle which we could help ourselves to when we were hungry and a pillow for when we were sleepy.

I think we turned out good.

performing monkey

Day is born in the Monkey Year so it's quite apt that he has started building up his bag of tricks. First and foremost, say "Show me your tongue!" and he does this:



This isn't even the whole deal, he didn't stick it out all the way. His tongue is amazingly long and fat and thick. In fact he learnt this trick from the neighbour, who was so tickled by his tongue he would say that to Day whenever he saw him (which was on a daily basis), and that's how Day picked it up.

A friend had seriously advised me that The Tongue could cause problems in future with speech and drinking if he doesn't get therapy.

I think he's fine now though. He uses it to speak in very Tamil-sounding gibberish (his fav words being "dida-oh", "biyabu", "way-digger", "daboot-daboot-daboot" and "thith". Hey, whatever gets him going!)

It's such a hoot for us we have trained him to show us his tummy, his head and (in a failed attempt) his ass. He doesn't seem to want to touch his ass.

But it's amazingly useful trick which has turned up foreign objects in his mouth which shouldn't be there. We just say the words and out pops the tongue, with foreign object in tow.

The other very useful trick is when we say "Lie down and gao-gao-jee". (Gao-gao-jee being the dialect baby term for sleeping)



He runs to the nearest soft spot (usually his googly-eyed green frog Freddie), lays his head down and pretends to sleep. I say PRETEND because it's never for real. The one time he actually slept on the damn frog, without having to be carried or rocked, was in the above picture.

It's real fun being able to teach Day. Though compared to my friend's Golden Retriever puppy, who is of the same age (born April 2004), I must say the dog is the better-trained.

I also discovered that a good unteaching-like way of teaching Day, is to instruct him when he has already done it. So as he is kicking the ball, I say "kick the ball!" Or as he is picking something up, I say "pick it up!" The next time I give him that verbal command before he does it, he follows my instructions heehee.

Now all I have to do is to get him to obey when I say NO. Something I say 100 times a day to deaf ears.

uncle choon

One of the key figures in Day's life now is his uncle Choon.



Day only got to know him less than 2 months ago - since Choon was in Australia before - but they've gotten so thick that Day sometimes cries when uncle Choon leaves for work.

And when Choon comes home every day, he yells "Day Day!" before rushing to pick him up or play a game of catch. No surprise, one of the reasons why Choon decided to uproot from Australia where he was very happily underworked and overpaid and return to Singapore where it's the reverse, was so that he could get to know his sole nephew a little better.

So Day had to be a part of Choon's 28th birthday celebration yesterday, at the Pan Pacific Hotel's 37th-floor Chinese restaurant Hai Tien Lou. The view was great, Day could see from City Hall to Nicoll Highway.



Surprisingly, Day was extremely well-behaved. He sat in his high chair for 1 1/2 hours without a peep - extraordinarily rare for him - with just an occasional screwing up of the face.



What made dinner even more memorable, however, was:

* That 5 tiny bowls of shark's meat soup cost bloody $140
* That while we were eating, a tremor from an earthquake measuring 7.2 on the Richter scale in Sumatra caused the restaurant - which is perched like a saucer at the edge of the hotel - to sway for a good 15 seconds. I didn't feel a thing, I was too busy in the toilet trying to clean up Day's shit. Which is a good thing as I would have panicked. As it is, just hearing about how Choon's tea cup was rattling made me want to run down the emergency staircase with Day in arms.